Page 30 of The Illicit Play
Not until I met Cleo. Not until I let her pull me off the rails.
Shit. How can I love and hate something in equal measure?
My phone buzzes with a text and I pull it out of my back pocket, reading Wily’s message.
Shithead: Where you at, butt face? The rain’s getting kind of heavy. Need a ride?
I glare at the screen, wishing I had an easy answer. I usually love how protective he is, but right now, it feels suffocating. I don’t want a ride back to Football Frat. How do I face him right now?
My brain’s a mess, and I don’t have it in me to put on my good girl smile. I just need a little more time.
Guilt ratchets through me as I quickly type my response.
Found the library. Nirvana!! Don’t expect me back anytime soon. Unless you need something.
It takes him less than a minute to reply.
Shithead: Haha! Study nerd! I’m all good here. Satch just arrived. Call me when you need a ride home and I’ll send one of the guys to come get ya.
I send back a thumbs-up, already dreading that moment.
Spinning, I turn my back on the library and keepwalking. The darkness sets in as I aimlessly wander, and my sensible, logical brain is telling me to get back to the house already. I’m hungry, and walking around in the rainy darkness by myself is a terrible idea.
But I’ve wandered so long and so far now, I have no fucking idea where I am.
Slowing to a stop, I scan the neighborhood. I can tell by the cars parked in driveways and the unkempt lawns that I must be on a street that’s mostly populated by college students.
Hearing a distant thud of music, I turn and walk toward it, curiosity getting the better of me.
I know that thud.
It’s familiar.
It means a party.
It means fun.
It means a scratch for this restless itch I’ve been fighting all day.
It takes me two minutes to walk down the street, and I’m soon standing outside a house that’s practically vibrating, the ground beneath my feet pulsing, the lights inside calling to me. Uncontrolled laughter, out-of-tune singing, shouts and whoops. It’s all so familiar.
“Hey, sugar.” A guy walks past me, his smile friendly as he heads up the path. Turning back, he points a thumb over his shoulder. “You coming?”
“Don’t know anyone.” I lift my chin at the house behind him.
“Doesn’t matter.” His smile grows even wider. “These parties are always for everyone. Come on. It’ll be fun.” Tipping his head toward the house, he beckons me through the front door.
I watch him step inside, shaking his wet hair like a dog and laughing when the girl closest to him lets out a squeal, then slaps his arm. He pulls her in for a kiss and she pushes him away, then laughs at something he said, raising her red Solo cup in the air and whooping before kissing his lips.
Uncertainty niggles, trying to warn me away as I check the street, left and right before my eyes land back on that front door. It’s still hanging open, still beckoning me to enter.
That buzz starts to fire inside me again.
I need this.
Just one night to let loose, and then I can go back to playing pretend again.
There’s no harm in that, right?
